


Handled

by Aelfay



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Captain America Bucky Barnes, M/M, Steve Rogers as the Winter Soldier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:48:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25479436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aelfay/pseuds/Aelfay
Summary: The water was already in the bath. It steamed but only mildly. The soap was in a little dish.The soap was shaped like a duck. He stared at the soap for a long while, sitting in the bath, waiting for his pain to lessen as per instructions. Why was the soap shaped like a duck. Was it a psychological test for the handler to give him soap shaped like a duck.------Bucky never got the serum. Bucky got lycanthropy. And now, to save Steve's life, he had to share. Too bad Steve has no idea what's going on.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 22
Kudos: 140
Collections: Fandom Trumps Hate 2020





	Handled

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ZepysGirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZepysGirl/gifts).



> This is for Morgan with Fandom Trumps Hate, who has been incredibly patient while I lost my job and got a job and moved and just... 2020, y'all.

Everything burned. This was what happened, he thought, when you didn’t complete the mission, when you reset somehow before it had finished. Everything burned.

* * *

He woke on something soft, feeling surprisingly warm. His body hurt. Maybe that was why he was not in cryo. They often decided to take him to the laboratory first.

He stayed very still, breathing slow. They didn’t need to know he was awake. Awake meant the pain began, with the questions, what does that feel like, is it sharp or dull, can we take another bone sample from his femur.

“So this is the original,” a voice said. It was fast and sharp like a jackhammer but with less bite to it.

“Shut up, Tony,” was the response from a second voice. That was an authority voice. Handler, then.

“No, don’t mind me, I just – can see the appeal. Dirty and unwashed was always your aesthetic,” sharp voice said.

“JARVIS, translate,” said the handler through gritted teeth. Heart rate sped up, and he had to slow it back down to stay ‘asleep.’

“Sir is concerned for the state of Captain Rogers and would like to provide cleaning supplies and/or assistance,” said a computer voice through the speakers, and he had a sudden shock of terror because there was another Zola somehow, but it didn’t sound like Zola, but it had to be.

“Thanks, Tony, but I don’t want him thinking he’s gotta disrobe for us, so we’ll wait for him to stop pretending to be asleep and let him do it himself,” the handler said dryly.

He shuddered. They knew. This meant punishment. Punishment would only get worse the longer he stalled, now that they knew he was awake. He stood and faced the men. His head spun and he stumbled once. Maybe they would put him in the bed while the scientists worked. Then he couldn’t fall and get a second punishment.

“Ready to comply,” he said.

The handler raised his eyebrows. He knew him; dark hair, grey eyes, lots of arm and. Thighs. He had reset the mission on the helicarrier. The short man next to him crossed his arms. “Don’t like that,” short sharp man said.

“Status report,” said the handler after a pause.

He responded after a moment. “Mission failed after new mission reset. Biological functionality compromised; expiry in two days.”

“Expiry due to what,” the handler said, and he had to pause.

“Biological systems in pain. Unsure of cause. Weakness and fatigue present,” he said, as the short sharp man swore in the background, _expiry in two days? They made him give them an estimated death date?!_

The handler ignored the short sharp man with what he thought must be experience as the short sharp man stormed out, looking furious. He braced himself. But the handler nodded once, a quick jerk of his head that felt like approval or a mission done. “There’s a bathtub with water and soap in the other room. Your current mission is to lie in it until the pain lessens and then wash yourself. You will refill the hot water as necessary to feel warm and not overhot. Mission clear?”

He stared. This was new, but he’d been given bathtub assignments in the lab before. Perhaps this was a new way of testing his muscular system or ability to hold his breath? It wasn’t for him to question. 

He went where the handler was pointing and stared. Was he supposed to be naked for this. Probably, if he was to wash. He took off his clothes and set them folded on the counter. Neatness was mandatory or punishment would ensue.

The water was already in the bath. It steamed but only mildly. The soap was in a little dish.

The soap was shaped like a duck. He stared at the soap for a long while, sitting in the bath, waiting for his pain to lessen as per instructions. Why was the soap shaped like a duck. Was it a psychological test for the handler to give him soap shaped like a duck.

* * *

17:36 KITCHEN 59.1 SIR: Why are you giving him orders? How can you be okay with any of this? They made him give an expiration date. Oh my god. Oh my god fuck Hydra.

PROTOCOL KITCHEN 59.1: PANIC ATTACK INITIATED.

LIGHTS: LOWERED 35%

SOUND: NEW YORK TRAFFIC, 50 dB

INSTRUCTION: Sir, you are having a panic attack. Please attempt to breathe slowly and straighten your shoulders. 

17:37 KITCHEN 59.1 CAPTAIN BARNES: If I tell him he’s not with Hydra, he’ll attempt to kill us. He wouldn’t manage it but he’d try, and half kill himself doing it. And ‘sides, I’ve been giving Steve orders to wash up and take care of himself since he was five foot two

INTERNAL ADJUSTMENT: 5’2”, 157.48 cm

17:37 KITCHEN 59.1 CAPTAIN BARNES CON’T: so once he’s back to himself he won’t mind that. I have to introduce his new reality slowly so he won’t panic. That’s it. Breathe through your nose a bit, Nino.

17:37 KITCHEN 59.1 SIR: Fuck you Jamie.

17:37 KITCHEN 59.1 CAPTAIN BARNES: There you are.

* * *

Six days with the new handler and he was… confused. The handler was clear, but kept giving him missions that were primarily about the biological functionality. This did not make sense. And things like the Duck Soap were starting to pop up more and more often. He had been instructed to dress yesterday and been given socks that had cats on them. The cats were on pillows and therefore looked like sashimi and sushi.

He did not understand how the cats would help in a tactical scenario. They did not help the feet. They were not more comfortable. They had bright colors that would stand out in a stealth mission.

He put them on anyway, of course, but they bothered him all day because they did not make sense. Equally bothersome was the handler’s smile whenever he saw them, wry and amused.

* * *

The handler touched him sometimes. Not like the old handlers. This was pats on the shoulder. The occasional rustle of his hair. Every other day, he would be ordered to sit in front of the handler, and the handler would braid his hair.

He had fallen asleep once, face on the handler’s knee, body still aching though he didn’t know why, the daily baths only soothing for a little while. He’d woken alert and tense, waiting to be scolded for sleeping without permission, but the handler had just finished the braid, tying it with a yellow elastic with beads on either end. He had soft hands.

The yellow matched the duck.

* * *

He sat at the kitchen table. This felt strange, but the handler had told him he was to sit on the chairs and not on the floor or he’d ruin his back. And then the handler had muttered something about _not having a bad back anymore Barnes, you overprotective dodo_ , but he hadn’t understood that bit.

“Steve,” said the handler. He’d gotten used to this new cover; under this handler he was designation _Steve_. On occasion, the handler would call him _Stevie_ on accident, but he was used to that now. He never yelled it. It was always _Stevie_ , warm and a little fond, and he found himself trying to please the handler when the handler was tired, because then he was more likely to slip.

“Ready to comply,” he said, straightening in his seat from the curled-up way he ate, so that nobody would take his rations.

The handler sighed. “Yeah, okay. Um, this is a debrief. God, I hate talkin’ to you like this.” The last bit was a mutter as the handler scrubbed his own forehead. His voice was tired, nothing like the soft _Stevie_ he’d murmured last night when he’d covered the handler with a blanket on the sofa. The handler faced him again and squared his shoulders. “The night after tomorrow night is the full moon, Steve. And that will lead to some new –” He paused, and then groaned, and said in a peppy voice, “So, your body’s changing!”

He stared at his handler, completely lost.

The handler lost the sudden peppiness and sighed again. “Right, okay. Parameters. Night after tomorrow, you will assume the form of a canine.” Oh, okay, this was more familiar: crazy orders.

He tilted his head. He very much wanted to object and tell the handler that he was unable to comply due to – inability to comply? But he knew better. If he couldn’t do it, that just meant they hadn’t trained him to yet.

“You will not be able to control the change,” well, that was no surprise, “and if you fight it, it will hurt,” also no surprise, “so I need you to relax and let it happen.” Pair Royal, we have a winner.

“I’ll be doing the same thing.” His head snapped up, because _what?_ His handler gave him a smile, which made his eyes get distracted on his lips. “Yeah, Steve, I’m going through it with you.”

“Is there a goal for this mission?” he asked his handler, trying to hide his confusion.

“Yeah. Don’t bite anybody and don’t panic.” His handler’s voice was dry. “I know it doesn’t sound like much of a mission, but it will be challenge enough.”

He nodded. That didn’t sound right. There was always a goal – something to be retrieved, something to be destroyed, something to be altered, someone to kill. 

* * *

“I am completely out of my mind,” said the pretty man.

“Aw, c’mon Sammy,” his handler said, and knocked his shoulder, making him sway. “He don’t bite.”

“Yet,” said the Sammy, who eyed him warily. “Man, you’re sure you want to change together?”

“Not doin’ it alone. I did it alone,” said his handler, a dark look going over his face. “He don’t deserve that.”

“Yeah, well. If I get my head ripped off, I want you to know I didn’t deserve _that_ ,” said the Sammy, but he was smiling as he took off his backpack and shoes. “Why the hell did I decide to get involved in your stupid white boy wolf drama?”

“Cause I’ve got pretty eyes, a nice ass, no idea what to do with this Captain America bullshit, and somebody had to keep me from crapping my pants when the Army tried to re-draft me?” He hadn’t known the handler was Army. He knew the rest, though, even though he didn’t have eyes on the handler’s ass at the moment.

“Oh, right,” the Sammy said, “I’m an idiot, thanks for reminding me.”

“You’re welcome. C’mon, wanna see the gym? I got it set up. Hey Steve, wanna see the room?”

He did want to see the room. The room was where the mission would be carried out, he believed, and was therefore mission-relevant. Also leaving his handler alone with the Sammy made his stomach do flips. He nodded and stood.

“What’re those?” the Sammy pointed at his socks with the cat sushis. His handler looked unimpressed.

“Are you memeing at me? We talked about this.”

“He put you in cat sushi socks?” the Sammy asked him, and he nodded once, frowning.

“Not stealthy. But they fit correctly. Comfortable.”

“They sure are, man, but someday you’re gonna kick his ass.”

“That is against protocol.”

His handler looked wry. “Damn right it’s against protocol. ‘sides, Steve likes cats.”

“Does he now,” said the Sammy, wryly.

“Well he did. Not sure if the wolf does. C’mon, lemme show you the room.” The handler rolled his eyes and headed down the hall, and the Sammy followed. He trailed behind a little.

“Oh my god,” said the Sammy when they entered the gym, and when he entered, he had to agree.

It was ridiculous.

“What even is this, Barnes?” the Sammy demanded of his handler, and Steve took a step closer, frowning, but his handler brushed a hand through the air like it was nothing.

“I set it up.”

“It’s giant fucking toys.” The Sammy glared at a giant fucking rubber duck that was stuffed and about the same height as him.

“Good for snuggling or mauling as necessary,” the handler agreed. “Got my bedding over there, should smell familiar. Been settin’ aside my old sheets and blankets all month, gettin’ new once a week to add scent so we got plenty. Chew toys. So much meat over there, I got Nino to make me a dispenser that hands you out a chunk if you paw at the button.”

“You’re kidding me,” said the Sammy, gaping, and the handler shrugged.

“Tried to think of what I wanted, when I changed. Safe scent, food, and since I didn’t have pack, at least something I could flop on and bed down in.”

The Sammy looked around, eyes going softer, but he still protested. “But why are the bed-down things so—” he eyed a giant plush turtle that had a bud for a shell. “Like this?” He waved at it.

“You think Hydra’s interior decorators go for this?” His handler did the same wave, and the Sammy considered.

“It’s not anything close to practical,” he said slowly. “That’s why the socks.”

“That’s why the socks,” his handler said, and Steve tilted his head, then looked down and wiggled his toes. Not practical, no. But warm. And soft. And fun to look at. Like his bath duck. And his handler’s hair. “He should have things just to have them. That’s the first thing you re-learn. Nobody gives a weapon useless stuff, but people – people have all kinds of useless junk, just cause it makes them smile to look at it. Steve’s an artist, he likes lookin’ at shit, I should put up some advertisements with shitty kerning just to piss him off.”

“You’re a nightmare. It’s genius,” the Sammy said, and glanced over at him. “You’re either going to love him or loathe him when you figure this out.”

“He does that anyway,” said his handler with a shrug, looking amused. Steve got distracted by his lips again.

* * *

That night his handler brought him and the Sammy to the gym, and began to undress. Steve stared at him, and then looked down at himself.

“You can keep the clothes on,” the Sammy told him, “but they’ll get shredded during the change, so you should take off anything you want to keep safe.”

He paused, and then carefully peeled off his cat sushi socks and set them aside, straightening again and waiting. The Sammy stripped to his boxers, looking askance at his handler, who was entirely naked. He found it hard to look at the handler head on, his eyes kept skittering to the side or trying to look between his legs.

“Really, man? Freeballin’ it before we even start? Tryin’ to impress me?”

“I’m very impressive,” said his handler, going over to the big pile of blankets and pillows and flopping in the middle, face down. It didn’t look very breathable, but he didn’t seem inclined to move.

His butt was very round.

His handler lifted his head and looked over his shoulder, and then grinned at Steve. “Nice to see some things haven’t changed.”

“I knew it,” said the Sammy, and his handler snorted, shaking his head.

“No shit, Sam. Make yourself comfy, moon’s not up for a while yet.”

Sam went to the giant turtle thing and sat on it.

He looked around, and then approached the duck, clambering onto the back of it and curling up carefully, checking over with his handler, but his handler seemed perfectly all right with him relaxing on it.

Weird fucking mission. He tucked his head into the soft plush and let himself drift.

* * *

Everything burned. This was what happened, he thought, when you didn’t complete the mission, when you reset somehow before it had finished. Everything burned.

* * *

Warm, comforting scent. That was the first thing to register, was the scent – _home_ , it said, _warm, safe, happy._

His tail wagged.

His tail wagged?

He wrenched his head around to look and nearly fell over, because he had too many legs and not enough arms, but before faceplanting he managed to catch himself and look back, and – oh. It was a tail.

Mission halfway complete, so long as he didn’t bite anyone.

He tried to get up again, stumbling slightly, and managed to get to his feet, tail wagging again when he managed it. It was involuntary, he swore.

The scent was on the duck, but it was also all over the room. He followed it in trails on the floor, stumbling steps with his nose to the ground. It smelled like Brylcreem and sweat, like Lucky Strikes and shaving foam and grease.

It smelled like Bucky, he thought, and then fell down for real when his brain registered the name.

Bucky.

How could he forget Bucky?

He struggled to his feet again and looked around, heart pounding. He had to find Bucky, that was a Bucky-scent –

Something bowled him over from behind, and a silver-white wolf stood above him, tongue lolling out playfully, and he managed not to snap _(no biting, said the mission)_ and then realized he was _entirely in Bucky scent now._

He buried his nose straight into the wolf’s chest, and the wolf huffed, sounding amused somehow as it settled half on top of him, letting Steve get whole lungfuls of scent. All of it smelled like Bucky.

Aw jeez. The wolf was Bucky, wasn’t it. He lifted his head, tilting it, and the wolf twitched a very smug ear.

Definitely Bucky.

* * *

About halfway through play-wrestling Bucky and teasingly gnawing at his ear, Steve remembered Bucky had been dressing him in sushi cats.

Bucky wouldn’t mind wearing earrings. Probably.

* * *

That also meant Steve failed the mission, technically, but tearing into his first raw steak as a wolf pretty much meant he didn’t care.

* * *

Halfway through the night Steve finally pulled himself out of Bucky’s scent long enough to notice the other wolf in the corner, patiently watching them both. It was russet-red and brown, looking alert but relaxed, and he tilted his head at it, twitching an ear curiously.

Bucky slipped up next to him and nudged him forward. Steve stumbled and flashed him a glare before going up and sniffing carefully at the other wolf.

Oh. The Sammy—Sam. Sam, the man who had teased Bucky about his balls. Steve approved. He wagged hesitantly, and Sam-wolf perked up before crouching and wagging back.

Bucky yipped, and that was all it took for them all to act like dumbass puppies as they romped and tore through the room.

* * *

He woke feeling like he’d recently been run over by a train, or dropped from one, brainwashed, turned into an assassin, nearly killed a man, woke up on fire, followed the man around like a heartsick puppy, and then found out he was a werewolf.

He was gonna kill Bucky. Right after he kissed him. And then he was gonna kiss him again, probably.

“You’re an ass,” he said, “A chump, you – you _punk_.”

“Oh, is that how we’re playing this?” asked Bucky, who was draped over his back, and Steve groaned. “I’ll have you know I pulled you out of the Potomac and saved your life with that bite.”

“After I broke years of brainwashing and decided to toss you out instead of kill you,” Steve complained, and Sam snorted.

“You are the most dysfunctional couple I’ve ever met, and I counsel vets for a living.”

“You’ve no room to talk,” Steve said wryly. “You were staring at Bucky’s balls, earlier.”

“They’re weird. White boy balls are weird, and there’s too many of them exposed in this room. I’m out, I’m going to go brush my _teeth_ ,” Sam complained, “Since it turns out I was pretty unnecessary anyway. Nobody even got mauled.”

Bucky tugged his ear, but it had healed in the transformation back. “Steve failed the mission.”

“Steve was supposed to fail the mission,” Sam yelled back, walking out the door, and Steve hummed, relaxing into the gym mat beneath him.

“Buck?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you know that would work?”

Bucky shrugged. “Worth a try,” he said, and Steve shoved at him, to roll him over.

“I thought you were my _handler_ ,” he complained, and Bucky smirked.

“I am your handler,” he said, and gave Steve a long look from top to bottom, metal arm and all, and Steve shivered. “You know they promoted me when you were gone? Can’t say you outrank me no more, Stevie.”

Steve narrowed his eyes. “Is that so?”

“Uh-huh. Got your shield and everything from Stark Junior,” Bucky said, and Steve hummed, considering.

“They ask you to do any pin-ups yet?”

Bucky groaned, and Steve grinned, smacking his ass and darting for the showers. “I’m gonna find ‘em!” he declared, and heard Bucky scrambling up behind him a second later, tackling him to the ground and gnawing at his ear, half-wolfy, reminding Steve of the night before.

“You’re a little shit, and you scared the _crap_ out of me,” Bucky told him, hold going from playful to a little bit too tight, and Steve’s breath caught as he turned his head to try to meet Bucky’s eyes. “Don’t you _ever_ do that to me again, Rogers.”

“Sir yes sir,” Steve said breathlessly, “It’s easy, Buck, just don’t let me go.”

Bucky’s arms tightened and he tucked his nose against Steve’s neck, breathing in deep, and Steve relaxed into the hold, letting himself feel safe again, warm and home, before something occurred to him.

“Hey. Hey, Buck. Bucky.”

“Mmph.” Bucky lifted his head, hair everywhere, glowering at him.

“Sam stole my sushi socks!”


End file.
